It’s made for celebrating
For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated New Years Eve. I’ve hated it with a kind of blind passion reserved for fundamentalists and the Tory Party. I’m not even entirely sure why I have such distaste for this particular celebration, I just know that watching people set resolutions I knew would fail made me cringe, and trying to plan a night that lives up to the hype is a kind of pressure that should be reserved solely for Wall Street and the Stock Exchange.
So every year, like a grumpy recluse, I have retired to the sofa with my pyjamas and a Chinese takeaway while I rolled my eyes at the tirade of cheesy Facebook statuses that would pop up on my news feed like clockwork.
But here’s the things. Someone very wise told me recently that life was made for celebrating, and those words are still ringing in my ears. They rang so hard I packed up my bags and trotted off to Thailand to join one of the biggest new years eve parties in the world.
And it’s true. Life in itself is a celebration and the moments shouldn’t be ignored. I’ve spent the last two years breaking apart, which sounds drastic but is actually strangely liberating. You really find out about yourself when you break like that. What I found, above all, is that there is someone in me who will always look up with a trembling hope that things will get better, will be better and that the glorious days are still yet to come. No heartbreak, pain or grief will change that.
There will always be sadness and pain that touches our world and we will always hurt. But I refuse to let that be it. That cannot be all there is. What there actually is, is hundreds of thousands of moments that are beautiful and worth celebrating. All that we have is a web of moments, delicately woven together to form an intricate life. The moments are literally all we’ve got. They deserve to be celebrated, noticed and acknowledged. Otherwise what the hell are we all doing? There has to be more than sadness.